Maya's POV
The knife slipped from my hand and clattered into the sink.
I gripped the counter, breathing hard, staring at my reflection in the dirty kitchen window. My hands were shaking again. Three months since Los Angeles, and I still couldn't hold a knife without seeing Marcus's face. Without feeling his blade sliding between my ribs.
"Get it together, Maya," I whispered.
I dried my hands and picked up the peanut butter sandwich I'd been making. Dinner. Again. I'd been living on peanut butter sandwiches and coffee for weeks because cooking meant using knives, and knives meant memories I couldn't handle.
My phone buzzed. Unknown number. My stomach dropped.
I almost didn't answer. Unknown numbers usually meant lawyers, reporters, or people calling to tell me I was a dirty cop who deserved worse than being fired. But something made me pick up.
"Maya Reeves?" A woman's voice, older, calm.
"Who's asking?"
"My name is Carmen Chen. I live in Crimson Bay, California. I have a job for you."
I laughed, but it came out bitter. "Lady, I don't have a license to work as a private detective yet. You've got the wrong person."
"No," she said firmly. "I have exactly the right person. You're driving into Crimson Bay tonight, aren't you? To see your brother?"
My blood went cold. "How do you know that?"
"Because I know everything that happens in this town. And I know that something very bad is happening here. Something that needs someone like you—someone who can't walk away from the truth, even when it costs everything."
"I'm done being a hero," I said. "Heroes get stabbed and betrayed and lose everything. I just want to see my brother and start over somewhere quiet."
"Crimson Bay isn't quiet, Detective Reeves. It's a beautiful lie covering an ugly truth. And in forty-eight hours, you're going to stumble right into the middle of it whether you want to or not."
She hung up.
I stood there, phone pressed to my ear, listening to dead air. My heart was pounding. How did this woman know I was going to Crimson Bay? How did she know about my brother?
I looked around my apartment—boxes stacked everywhere, my whole life packed up and ready to go. Tomorrow morning, I'd drive away from Los Angeles forever. Away from the police department that threw me away like garbage. Away from Marcus Webb and his lies. Away from the reporters who called me corrupt. Away from the scar on my ribs that throbbed every time I remembered how my partner—my friend—had tried to kill me.
Brian didn't know I was coming. I wanted to surprise him. After Dad died two years ago, Brian moved to Crimson Bay and started a construction business. We'd talked on the phone sometimes, but not much. He was busy. I was busy. Life got in the way.
But he was all I had left. And I needed family right now more than I needed air.
I finished packing, loaded my old Honda, and started driving.
The sun was setting when I reached the coast highway. Orange and pink light painted the ocean like fire. For the first time in months, I felt something that wasn't pain or anger or fear.
Hope.
Maybe Crimson Bay would be different. Maybe I could start fresh. Maybe Brian would hug me and tell me he knew I wasn't corrupt, that he believed in me when nobody else did.
The town appeared around a curve—white buildings cascading down cliffs to a perfect beach, boats bobbing in a marina, streetlights just starting to glow. It looked like a postcard. Like somewhere people went on vacation to forget their problems.
I drove down Main Street slowly. Boutique shops. Art galleries. A coffee place with fairy lights. Couples walking hand in hand. Everyone looked happy and safe and normal.
I touched the scar under my shirt. The raised ridge of tissue where Marcus's knife had gone in. The doctor said I was lucky it missed major organs. Lucky. That was a funny word for getting stabbed by your partner because you discovered he was trafficking girls and you threatened to turn him in.
Marcus had smiled when he did it. "You always were too good, Maya. Too pure. Too stubborn. That's why I loved you. And that's why you have to go."
I'd reported him anyway, even bleeding in a hospital bed. And instead of arresting Marcus, the department investigated me. They found "evidence" that I was the corrupt one—planted evidence Marcus had been preparing for months. My captain gave me a choice: resign quietly or face criminal charges.
I resigned. Marcus walked free. And I stopped believing in justice.
My phone's GPS announced I'd arrived at my destination—the address Brian had given me months ago. A small construction company office near the docks.
The lights were on inside. I parked and sat there for a minute, suddenly nervous. What if Brian had changed? What if he believed the lies about me?
"Stop it," I told myself. "He's your brother. He loves you."
I got out of the car and walked to the door. Through the window, I could see Brian at a desk, talking to someone I couldn't see. He looked older, more tired than I remembered. But he was still Brian—same messy brown hair, same broad shoulders from years of construction work.
I smiled and reached for the door handle.
Brian looked up. Our eyes met through the glass.
And his face went completely white.
Not surprised. Not happy. Terrified.
He stood up so fast his chair fell over. He said something sharp to whoever was with him, then rushed to the door. But he didn't open it for a hug. He opened it six inches and blocked the gap with his body.
"Maya." His voice was harsh. "What are you doing here?"
"I... I wanted to surprise you. I thought we could—"
"You need to leave. Right now."
The words hit me like a punch. "What?"
"Leave Crimson Bay. Tonight. Don't come back."
"Brian, I don't understand. I'm your sister. I just wanted—"
"I know what you wanted." His eyes darted past me to the parking lot, like he was checking if anyone was watching. "But you can't stay here. It's not safe."
"Not safe? What are you talking about?"
Behind Brian, I saw movement. A man stepped into view—expensive suit, cold eyes, a smile that made my skin crawl. He looked at me the way a snake looks at a mouse.
And he looked familiar. Very familiar.
My cop instincts kicked in. I'd seen that face before. But where?
"Brian," the man said smoothly. "Aren't you going to introduce us to your sister?"
Brian's hands clenched into fists. His jaw was so tight I thought it might break. When he spoke, his voice was flat and dead.
"She's nobody. Just someone passing through who made a wrong turn."
The man smiled wider. "Is that so?"
Then he stepped closer to the window, and the light hit his face fully.
My heart stopped.
I knew him. Not personally. But I'd seen his face in case files back in Los Angeles. In the trafficking investigation that Marcus had shut down. In the evidence I'd tried to gather before Marcus stabbed me and destroyed my career.
This man was supposed to be in Los Angeles. He was part of Marcus's operation.
Which meant—
"Oh God," I whispered. "Brian, what have you done?"
My brother's eyes filled with something that looked like despair. "Run, Maya. Please. Just run."
But I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Because behind the man in the expensive suit, I saw something that made my blood freeze.
A police badge on the desk.
A Crimson Bay Police badge.
And next to it, a photo of a teenage girl with dark hair and a bright smile.
The same girl whose missing person flyer I'd seen taped to a streetlight when I drove into town.
Emma Chen. Missing for three days.
Except I had the horrible feeling she wasn't missing anymore.